


Of Bakeries and Bookshops

by aceforwhatevenisthis



Series: Of That Old Bookshop [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Bakeries, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, M/M, No beta we fall like Crowley, One Shot, POV Outsider, and daily routines, crowley doesn’t know how to use legs, help him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-24 21:01:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22124380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aceforwhatevenisthis/pseuds/aceforwhatevenisthis
Summary: Even if Martha doesn’t understand what happened in the summer, she still adores the scholarly, kind Mr Fell and his new young man.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Of That Old Bookshop [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1593154
Comments: 22
Kudos: 396





	Of Bakeries and Bookshops

“Strange what they say on the telly, ain’t it?” 

Martha hummed in agreement. 

It was true; the television was certainly a sight to behold, especially after the summer that just passed. Martha would see the anchors and their invited guests discuss the possibility of aliens and deep-sea myths, both of which she held little merit to. Still, it was entertaining seeing the young folk on the news try to come up with explanations for all of these. She didn’t like the segments about possible nuclear war, though. 

_ “I’m telling you, Will. The government won’t admit it, but I’ve spoken to some whistleblowers and they can confirm that nuclear weapons were armed during the summer-”  _

“That’s enough, don’t you think, lass?” Martha switched the channel. The few people in the small bakery turned their heads to go back to their food and conversations. The young girl who worked with Martha — “The name’s Emma, ma’am” — went back to rearranging the pastries. So, Martha continued with her duties at the register, counting up the money they had and writing down the numbers. It was a cold morning, meaning autumn was starting to creep into Soho. She could see it in the way that the people outside pulled on their coats and shuffled by. They would walk right past the small bakery with a hurried step. Places to be after all, and the cold certainly wasn’t very inviting. 

She hoped the birds were doing well. She called to Emma to take over as she went outside to check on the birds that had settled into the cracks between the historic roofs. They looked to be doing all right so she filled up a bowl of cat food and another of the dog equivalent, leaving both in front of the establishment he worked at. 

The small bell over the front door rang, tossing back and forth until the door was fully shut. The lean, dark-looking man walking in — whom Martha recognized as the young man of that nice bookshop owner who lives across the street — gathered no attention, walking like he was about to fall over (Martha always found it amusing to look at). 

“Shall it be the regular, dearie?” Martha asked, signaling to Emma to hand her a small, to-go box. 

“No, not today.” Martha eyed him over her eyeglasses. He continued, “I’ll take a couple dozen macarons. You know, the fruity ones,” said the man. “Maybe a tart as well.” 

“Dear me,” said Martha, filling up the small box with a special delicacy. “Special occasion?” 

“He’s being fussy, you know how he is.” 

Martha nodded. She knew all too well about the young man’s partner. Mr Fell would come in, always precisely a quarter hour after opening, and order a fruit tart with his morning coffee, although sometimes it would a kettle-boiled Earl Grey with exactly four sugars. He looked like the type to fuss, but really, he was quite pleasant to converse with. Martha enjoyed how learned he was. 

The bakery waitress handed the young man his assorted pastries, ringing him up as she said, “What’s he done now, then?” 

The man ran a hand down his face. He looked like he was suffering. “Locked me out is what he’s done.” 

“What have  _ you _ done, then?” 

Mr Crowley, though his eyes were hidden behind those light-eating glasses of his, was terrible at hiding his expressions. Martha has come to learn most of them, seeing Mr Crowley picked up sweets on the daily for Mr Fell, and she has grandchildren, so she can tell the moods of this day’s younglings. 

Martha saw that Mr Crowley merely murmured something or the other, and so she prompted him again. 

“He called me nice, which to be fair, I’m not supposed to have a problem with anymore but it was the force of habit, ya see?” 

Martha smiled, mostly so that she could hide her urging laughter. Oh, the things folk nowadays get themselves into. 

“And I-- well, he-- gah! I was just being stupid, like always. And I didn’t mean it! But then the whole next day he kept interrupting my naps, kept telling me ‘do this’ and ‘do that,’” his face contorted as he tried impressions of Mr Fell, “And he kept talking to the customers! The customers! That he hates! Bloody hell, all of it!” 

“And so he locked you out of the shop?” Martha started on the coffee, even if Mr Crowley hadn’t asked for it. She figured he would even if he didn’t. And if he notices a coffee he didn’t pay for when he eventually leaves the bakery, well, she certainly can’t be blamed. 

“Yes! My fault really, for chucking that one Wilde book out of its shelf, and whoops, it went into the bin. And the bin, that was at point A, went to point B and lookie here! Bumped into it, then into a shelf of those Bible copies he has. Nearly died then,” Mr Crowley pulled his wallet and kept making faces, “But damn it all if the Wilde book gets dirtied. Poor Crowley can go wait outside like a child. Blasted legs, they can’t work properly, I’m telling you. How do you people control them?” 

“I’m sure it’ll work out just fine, dearie. That man can’t hold a grudge for the life of him.” Martha doesn’t necessarily live in Soho but she grew up in it her entire life, all 55 years of it, and she’s always seen Mr Fell there, ready with a prayer, a cup of tea, and a smile. He’s aged incredibly well. Martha is a little jealous. “Do tell Mr Fell that I have a new scarf I’d like to show him, so I might pass by later.” 

Mr Crowley nodded and Martha handed him the coffee, but he didn’t even look at it. He pulled out a handful of pound notes and left a generous tip, as always, and strained out a quick ‘thank you.’ 

“Mind how you go, then. Send my greetings to your husband!” Martha called as Crowley ventured into the chilly autumn morning. Emma was mopping the floor near the back but even she could hear Mr Crowley and Martha had a show of watching Emma mouth comments back at her boss, of which mostly consisting of foul-mouthed exclamations that Martha understood to be attempts at joking. Youth these days, dear Lord. 

The bookshop across the street had its lights on, as the sky was darkening for a mid-morning rain, and Martha could see the young Mr Crowley standing outside the shop’s window, waving the box of pastries and coffee around, as if to get Mr Fell’s attention. It seemingly worked, because she saw the shop door open and a dress shoe wipe away salt that was lined up at the foot of the entrance, which Martha thought was a tad bit strange but Mr Fell and his young man are a rather odd couple. Mr Crowley visibly heaved a sigh of relief and rushed in to what Martha hoped was loving, receiving arms. 

Emma brushed up besides her. “Something the matter, ma’am?” Martha realized she was staring. 

“You asked me for some gossip this morning. Here’s your piece, though it shouldn’t be a surprise: I’m quite sure Mr Fell found himself an angel.” 

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve only created Martha for ten minutes and I love her. 
> 
> Most probably going to be part of a series. 
> 
> Comments and kudos appreciated! <3
> 
> Also, happy new year!


End file.
